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The Emotional writer

When the clock strikes 12, that man sat on his desk and started to feel emotional. As he feel the sound of the silent wind whispering outside of his dusty window, maybe it was the time for him to pour out his burdens through writing. To that man, it is not the tongue that he acknowledged but his sad mind that he gathered into a group of phrases. His mouth is like a broken faucet in a mountain village. When it’s needed, not one drop comes out, and in the middle of the night it flows on its own. In that moment, all the words he couldn’t speak come pouring out belatedly. He vows, “Next time, I should answer like this, I should make this retort”. That man speaks the most impressive lines when he is alone.

That man is fun of reading and takes writing as a lifestyle. He can’t live without the lines of a metaphor or the uses of a simile. As he wrote down his next segment of his story, that man recalled those actions that he did and decided if his actions defined his self. To that man, words are like magic that he can done every day. Through writing, his heart felt calm and he can see things in his very own favor. 

To that man, writing is his way to breathe freely from all the broken scars that he had that he couldn’t resolve. Even one word means so much to him and he can construct it into a beautiful sentence. To that man, writing is not just structuring a group of words or to repair a parallel sentence, it is a way to express his self, emotions, broken scars, past and the present.

 

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